“Are you seriously saying this right now? Look me in the eyes.”
“Vera, why are you getting worked up over nothing? I worked like a dog all year. I have the right to relax and buy myself a present!”
Vera stood in the middle of the kitchen, her fingers gripping the edge of the countertop so tightly that the skin beneath her nails turned white. Opposite her, leaning lazily against the doorframe, stood Igor. On his face hovered that same condescending half-smile that usually appeared whenever he considered himself absolutely right and his wife overly emotional, incapable of understanding real life.
Ten minutes earlier, he had come home in high spirits, smelling of expensive cologne, tobacco, and cognac, happily announcing that the annual bonus they had been waiting for over the past three months had already been distributed. Or rather, spent. All of it, down to the last kopeck. One hundred and eighty thousand rubles had vanished into thin air in a single evening.
“A present?” Vera’s voice trembled treacherously, but she forced herself to take a deep breath. “Since autumn, you and I have been discussing that this money would go toward replacing the pipes in the bathroom and buying a new washing machine. Ours already bangs so loudly during the spin cycle that the neighbors knock on the radiators!”
“Nothing terrible will happen. Your pipes can wait,” Igor waved her off carelessly. “I’m a man. I’m the breadwinner. I earned that bonus with my own back. The guys at work have a tradition: whoever gets a bonus treats everyone. We sat in a restaurant, had a good time, properly, in style. And with the change, I bought myself a fish finder for winter fishing. I’ve been dreaming about it for ages, by the way. Am I allowed to have even a little joy?”
Vera looked at her husband and felt a cold, sticky emptiness spreading inside her. She remembered how, for the past six months, she had saved on everything. How she had denied herself a new winter coat, continuing to wear her old padded jacket with shiny, worn sleeves. How she had switched to cheap coffee, the kind that left an unpleasant dryness in her mouth. All so their family budget would not fall apart while they saved for that cursed renovation.
“All right,” she said quietly, letting go of the edge of the table. “Let’s say you’re the breadwinner. Let’s say it’s your personal money. But there’s nothing in our fridge. I was waiting for your bonus so we could go to the hypermarket and buy groceries for the month. Meat, grains, household chemicals. I have one thousand rubles left until payday. What are we supposed to live on for the next two weeks?”
Igor raised his eyebrows in surprise, as if he had just heard something unbelievably stupid. He walked over to the table, poured himself water from the carafe, drank it in one gulp, and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
“Well then, take money from your card and buy food. You have a credit card, after all. ‘My husband blew his bonus, then told me to buy the groceries’ — is that what you’re going to tell your girlfriends now? Don’t make me laugh, Vera. You work, I work. My money is my reward for stress, and your salary is for our current living expenses. Tomorrow after work, stop by the store and grab something for dinner. Dumplings, at least. I want meat. You can fry a steak.”
After saying that, he turned and went into the room. Soon the sound of the television came from there, followed by the cheerful voice of a sports commentator.
Vera was left alone in the kitchen. The silence pressed against her ears, broken only by the hum of the old refrigerator. She walked over to the window and pressed her forehead against the cold glass. Outside, fine snowflakes swirled in the air, and the streetlights pulled lonely passersby out of the darkness as they hurried toward their warm homes.
This was the eighth year of her marriage to Igor. They had gotten together when both of them were well past thirty, each carrying past experience and a burden of disappointments. Igor had come into her apartment, which Vera had inherited from her parents, with one suitcase and vague stories about how his ex-wife had left him with nothing. Vera had believed him then, felt sorry for him, warmed him, and took him in. At first, he really did try: he brought flowers, helped around the house, and handed over his salary down to the last kopeck.
But the years passed, and Igor grew comfortable. The apartment was not his, so he did not have to worry about repairs. The utilities somehow paid themselves — from Vera’s wallet. Groceries magically appeared in the refrigerator. And Igor increasingly began saying that a man needed personal space, personal hobbies, and, accordingly, personal finances.
In the morning, Vera woke up with a heavy head. Igor was not beside her; he had left for work earlier, leaving a dirty cup and crumbs from yesterday’s bread on the kitchen table. Vera mechanically wiped them away with a cloth, brewed her cheap coffee, and began getting ready. She worked as a senior administrator at a dental clinic. It was a nerve-racking job that required a constant smile and endless patience, but the pay was stable. True, the money was barely enough to cover all the household needs of a family of two adults.
The whole day passed as if in a fog. Patients came and went, phones rang, doctors demanded patient files, and only one thought kept circling in Vera’s head: Igor’s words that her salary was for living expenses, while his bonus was his personal business.
That evening, after leaving the clinic, she headed to the supermarket. The frosty air burned her cheeks, and the snow creaked under her boots. In her wallet lay that same last thousand rubles in cash and the credit card she had promised herself she would never touch again.
The sales floor was crowded. People pushed carts loaded with vegetables, bright packages, and fresh meat. Vera took a plastic basket and slowly walked along the aisles. She stopped at the meat counter, where beautiful cuts of marbled beef were displayed. Steaks — exactly what Igor had asked for. The price tag made her eyes widen. Next to them lay pork neck, also far from cheap.
Vera’s hand reached toward the chilled meat, but suddenly froze. A picture flashed in her memory: Igor sprawled on the sofa, lecturing her about life. “I earned it. I’m the breadwinner.”
She sharply pulled her hand away from the steak display, turned around, and walked quickly to another section. Into her basket went a head of ordinary white cabbage, a pack of cheap pasta, a kilogram of potatoes, a discounted bottle of sunflower oil, and a package of the cheapest sausages, the kind where meat was listed somewhere near the end of the ingredients. Spending exactly eight hundred rubles, she paid at the checkout and went home.
In the kitchen, Vera set to work with determination. She shredded the cabbage, poured boiling water over it to soften it, then tossed it into a frying pan with onions. In the neighboring pot, the pasta began to bubble. She sliced the cheap sausages into rounds and added them to the cabbage. A specific smell of a budget cafeteria spread through the kitchen. No delicacies, no culinary masterpieces. Just food to fill the stomach.
The front door slammed exactly at seven. Igor entered the apartment noisily, shaking snow from his boots right onto the mat.
“Vera, I’m hungry as a wolf!” he shouted from the hallway. “What have we got? Did you get steaks?”
He walked into the kitchen, rubbing his hands in anticipation. He looked into the frying pan, then into the pot. The smile slowly slid off his face, replaced by sincere bewilderment.
“What is this?” he pointed toward the stewed cabbage with sausage slices.
“Dinner,” Vera replied calmly, setting out the plates.
“Are you mocking me? I asked for normal meat. I’m coming home from work, I’m tired, I need protein. And you’re offering me this slop? This is only fit to feed pigs!”
Vera slowly dried her hands on a towel and turned to her husband. Her face was completely calm; not a single muscle twitched.
“Normal meat costs normal money. I had one thousand rubles left until payday. I bought what my money allowed. You said your bonus went toward a fish finder and a restaurant. And I’m not touching the credit card, Igor. I’m the one who has to pay the interest on it, not you. So sit down and eat while it’s hot.”
Igor turned crimson. He grabbed a chair, dragged it back with a crash, and sat down, staring at the plate as if it contained poison.
“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Getting revenge on me because I allowed myself to relax? How petty you are, Vera. Truly unbelievable. Some wife you are. A man brings money into the house, and she cooks him paper sausages.”
“What house do you bring money into, Igor?” Vera’s voice rang with metallic notes. She sat across from him, folding her arms over her chest. “This one? This is my home. I pay the utilities. I buy the household supplies. I pay for the internet. Your salary goes toward gas for your car, your lunches at cafés, and your fishing gear. Once a month you buy a bag of groceries with chips, beer, and a piece of sausage — for yourself. Where is your money in this home? Show me.”
Igor tried to say something, but the words stuck in his throat. He was not used to that tone. Usually, Vera grumbled a little, then backed down, smoothing over the conflict.
At that very moment, Igor’s phone vibrated on the table. The screen lit up, showing the name “Tamara.” It was his younger sister. Igor tried to reject the call, but missed the button and accidentally accepted it, also hitting the speaker icon.
A delighted female voice immediately burst from the speaker:
“Igorek, my brother, our savior! Oh, I don’t even know how to thank you! Dimochka is so happy, so happy! The phone is simply amazing. He’s been dreaming of an iPhone like that for the past year! If not for your bonus, we would never have bought him one for his graduation. Thank you so much. You’re the best uncle in the world!”
Dead silence hung in the kitchen. The only sound was the water gurgling in the radiator. Igor frantically jabbed at the screen, ending the call, then shoved the phone into his pocket. He was afraid to raise his eyes to his wife.
Vera sat in silence. Something inside her snapped. As if the tightly stretched string that had been holding her whole life together had broken with a deafening ring. A fish finder. A restaurant. And an outrageously expensive phone for his idle nephew. With her money. Because the money he had given to his sister was supposed to go toward their shared life, their home, the washing machine that jumped around the bathroom.
“So, a fish finder?” Vera’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper, but that whisper made Igor uneasy.
“Vera, try to understand. Dimka graduated from university. He needed a proper present. Tamara is raising him alone. It’s hard for her. I’m her brother. I’m supposed to help family.”
“Family?” Vera slowly rose from the table. “Your family is sitting right here in front of you. Or rather, it was.”
She left the kitchen and headed to the bedroom. Igor, sensing something was wrong, jumped up and rushed after her.
“Vera, what are you doing? Where are you going? Fine, you got offended. It happens. Tomorrow I’ll borrow some money from the guys and buy meat. Why are you starting this?”
Vera did not answer. She opened the wardrobe, took a large sports bag from the top shelf — the same one Igor had once used when he moved into her place — and threw it onto the bed. Then she opened the dresser drawer and began methodically pulling out his T-shirts, socks, and underwear.
“Hey, hey, what are you doing?” Igor tried to grab her by the arm, but she sharply pulled away.
“Packing your things,” Vera answered evenly. “You’re going to live with your real family. With your sister and nephew, the one you buy phones for while your wife wears boots with holes in them.”
“Vera, stop this circus!” Panic mixed with aggression sounded in Igor’s voice. “I’m not going anywhere! This is my home too! We’re husband and wife!”
Vera stopped. She turned toward him and looked straight into his eyes. There were no tears in her gaze, no hysterics. Only absolute, crystal-clear clarity.
“You’re registered at your sister’s place. This apartment belongs to me from the first floorboard to the last. There isn’t a single thing here that you bought. Even the television you were just watching was bought with my vacation pay three years ago. You lived here with everything handed to you. I fed you, washed your clothes, cleaned up after you. I created comfort for you so you could feel like a ‘man and a breadwinner.’ But you turned out to be nothing more than a freeloader.”
She grabbed an armful of his shirts, hangers and all, and threw them into the bag.
“You have no right to throw me out at night!” Igor shouted, trying to display righteous anger.
“I do. The law is completely on my side. Either you pack your things and leave on your own, or I call the police and say that there is a stranger in my apartment who refuses to leave. Believe me, Igor, I will do it. I no longer have the strength or the desire to tolerate you.”
He realized she was not joking. There was none of her usual softness in her eyes, no willingness to compromise. There was a concrete wall.
Igor clenched his fists, breathing heavily. Once he understood that manipulation would not work, he decided to leave by slamming the door loudly, so he could still have the last word.
“Choke on your apartment, then!” he spat, snatching the bag from her hands. He began carelessly throwing the rest of his things into it himself. “As if you’ll find another man at your age! You’ll sit alone, rotting away with your stewed cabbage!”
“I’ll manage,” Vera answered briefly, standing in the bedroom doorway.
The packing took fifteen minutes. Igor deliberately stomped loudly, threw his shoes around in the hallway, and huffed as he zipped up his jacket. He was hoping Vera would come out, cry, and beg him to stay. But she stood in the kitchen with her back to the hallway, silently looking out the window.
The lock clicked, and the heavy door closed with a dull thud. Silence settled over the apartment. Real, thick silence, with no tension in it.
Vera walked to the front door, turned the lock twice, then slid the upper latch shut. Tomorrow, she would call a locksmith and change the cylinder. Just in case.
The days began to flow in their usual rhythm. At first, Igor tried calling. First with threats, then with complaints that his sister’s place was cramped and his nephew did not let him sleep at night. Vera silently added his numbers to the blacklist. Then came the visits. He waited for her near the clinic, tried to pressure her with pity, and brought some cheap carnations.
She walked past him without even slowing down. Getting the divorce turned out to be a matter of procedure. Since they had no children together and no jointly acquired property, the process through the registry office took the one month required by law. Igor, gritting his teeth, came to sign the papers, realizing he had nothing to sue for and no means to sue with.
Two months later, Vera was returning home from work. Spring had already fully come into its own. The snow had melted, the first green leaves were appearing on the trees, and the air smelled of freshness and renewal.
She went into that same supermarket. She took a plastic basket and walked along the aisles. In her wallet was her salary. Her entire salary, which no longer had to be stretched and carved up to feed a grown, endlessly dissatisfied man.
Vera stopped at the fish counter. She chose an excellent, thick red fish steak. She took fresh vegetables, a jar of good cream cheese, and a cluster of ripe grapes. At the checkout, she paid easily, without the familiar anxiety about tomorrow. It turned out that living alone was not only calmer, but also significantly cheaper.
She came home to her clean, cozy apartment. In the bathroom already stood a new, silent washing machine, bought in installments that Vera could easily pay from the money that had been freed up. No one scattered socks around, no one demanded meat after blowing all his money on his own entertainment.
Vera baked the fish with lemon, poured herself a glass of pomegranate juice, and sat down at the table. The lights of the evening city glowed in the window. She took a sip, cut off a piece of juicy fish, and for the first time in a very long while, felt absolutely happy and free.
If you enjoyed this true-to-life story, don’t forget to like, subscribe to the channel, and share in the comments what you would have done in the main heroine’s place.
